


Are You Cold?

by CrimsonRoseBlooms



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Acceptance, Family Feels, Fluff and Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Is this smut or porn?, M/M, My First Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, i'm not sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonRoseBlooms/pseuds/CrimsonRoseBlooms
Summary: A short fluff/PWP about a day in the life of Victor Nikiforov after Yuuri moves in with him AKA the fic in which cute stuff happens and then they fuck.





	Are You Cold?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dropsofarainbow219](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dropsofarainbow219/gifts).



> AHHHHH! First ever sex scene (or at least the first one I wrote alone and published). It means a lot to me but I wanted to gift this to Dropsofarainbow219 because, well, she's kind of awesome and encourages writing porn, which I do. (Also because she's done the deed hehe.) Thought she might be proud of me for doing this like I'm proud of her. Also, because we're both drowning in work and becoming real adults. I'm also kinda bored and really wanted to write something for this pairing which I have been fangirling over for A YEAR. So yeah, sit back and enjoy the ride ;)

Victor woke up with a chill, his naked body exposed by the fallen blanket.

He groaned slightly and stared at the ceiling. He could tell from the lack of stains that this was the guest room. Everything seemed out of order though: clothes tossed everywhere, boxes stacked up, but his vision was not spinning. Had he been drunk last night? Or drugged?

He didn’t want to think.

Groggily, he rolled himself over. The other side of the bed was surprisingly warm. He crawled up to the warmth, savouring the contact. It was like honey, sweet and sticky. Perhaps Makkachin had been nuzzling up to him earlier and left after Victor refused to stir.

Where was Makkachin now?

There was no low growling, incessant clawing or pouncing from his furry companion. He could imagine Makkachin whining at him then deciding to head to the kitchen alone. The cupboards were within reach. Makkachin might accidentally pounce for the cutlery drawer and the whole thing would come tumbling down. The spoons, the forks, the knives…

Victor hurtled off the bed and dashed towards the kitchen all for the imagined scenario in his head.

As he swung the door open, an aroma wafted towards him. It was heavy, familiar and… delicious. It was the smell of cooked rice. And it was coming from the kitchen.

“Ah, you’re up.”

Standing with his back to him was Yuuri with an apron tied loosely around him. His figure was completely hidden by the loose-fitted antique jumper he always wore, only now it had been paired with mismatched fluffy socks. And he was chopping up lettuce rhythmically.

“Good morn – Victor! Put on some clothes!” he exclaimed, modest enough to turn away. The chopping accelerated.

By his feet, Makkachin was greedily scoffing down a bowl of dog food. Makkachin didn’t even bother to acknowledge him.

Victor knelt down to stroke his dog, unfazed by Yuuri’s exclamation. It wasn’t as though he had never seen him naked. Something was finally settling down in his head now that Makkachin was safe and sound.

“You’ve fed Makkachin?”

“But I don’t know if it’s the right amount. I know dogs whine even if they’re full. You’ll have to tell me the exact measurement. Can’t give Makkachin an unhealthy diet; that’d be too irresponsible as an owner. Not that I’m saying you’re irresponsible or that I am, or that I’m the owner -”

Victor sang, “You’re rambling.”

Yuuri blushed. It made Victor want to tease him more but instead he said, “Thank you for looking after Makkachin.”

“Well, I know Makkachin’s important to you. Thank you for giving me the chance to look after a dog again. I wasn’t home much to take care of Vic-chan.”

Then it hit Victor.

Yuuri was living with him now.

Yuuri was cooking him breakfast.

Yuuri had formally moved in last week. Into Victor’s apartment. In St Petersburg. Willingly.

“Victor?”

Yuuri was going to train with him until the Grand Prix.

“Victor, can you put some clothes on? Aren’t you cold?”

Yuuri was going to win and then they were going to get married.

“Victor?”

He had actually agreed to move from his comfortable family home in Japan to cold, harsh Russia so that they could be together. How could he possibly forget that?

“Victor? Are you okay?”

Without wasting another minute, Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s waist. Undeniably, Yuuri had curves that were soft for a man but more importantly, they fit the shape of Victor’s arms perfectly. He could easily slip into them.

And Yuuri was always warmer than he was – better metabolism and whatnot. Or maybe that old jumper.

Victor buried his face into his neck, soaking in his scent. They were using the same products now, but it smelled slightly different on his tanned skin.

“Victor? Is something wrong? Are you feeling ill?”

“What’s for breakfast?” he mumbled for the sake of saying something. He wanted a few more moments of silence so he could remain in this bubble of happiness.

“I smelt rice.”

“Oh, I made a Japanese breakfast.”

At that, Victor lifted his head to see the table set up like it had at Hasetsu: a plate of fish, a bowl of soup and what he presumed to be eggs. The picture of a full breakfast in the morning with his fiancé was more than enough for Victor to feel butterflies in his stomach. But it was so unusual to see the table packed, unless it was messy.

Victor turned back to Yuuri’s neck. There was still a lingering mark from the night before, dark and angry. He placed his lips directly above it, tracing the outline.

“Looks delicious.”

He felt Yuuri tense.

“Um… T-thank you.”

Victor hummed, and he felt Yuuri tremble under him. How was he still nervous after being together for so long?

“For the rice cooker, I mean. It came in this morning,” Yuuri explained, growing flustered again. He was so cute when he didn’t know what to say.

“I had no idea you ordered one.”

At this, Victor swelled with pride and grinned like a child who had succeeded in tricking his parents.

“That’s because I didn’t.”

When Yuuri showed no sign of understanding, he continued.

“I had it shipped over, from Hasetsu. I spoke to your mum about missing the food in Japan and she told me to take it. Wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

“This is the one I used in Hatsetsu?” he exclaimed, examining the rice cooker more closely.

It was adorable how Yuuri reacted to small things like this. His eyes were practically shining with excitement from an old rice cooker. They were professional figure skaters, they had won championships and somehow he had managed to remain humble. 

“So I was thinking we could send something back to your mum. She wouldn’t take any money from me. Maybe a toaster or something – keep with the theme. I haven’t worked it out yet.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Yuuri answered immediately, “You didn’t have to do this either.”

Victor tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“Then should I cancel that order of ten sacks of Japanese rice?”

“What?”

“It would be a waste of the rice cooker if we didn’t have the correct ingredients, so I had some stuff imported.”

He watched as Yuuri’s face flicked between emotions but settled for a gracious smile.

“It’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m not homesick. I like it here with you, Victor. You don’t have to bring Japan over to me; I came here to be in Russia with you.”

Victor thought it would be worth swimming over to get it himself if it meant Yuuri would be happy. He always made him feel so light inside, as if the world wasn’t a burning mass of destruction. Yuuri’s smile was enough.

But now he was squirming.

“Um, Victor?”

“Hm?”

“Can you go put some clothes on? You’ll catch a cold.”

Victor let out a short laugh.

The last time somebody told him that had been followed by ‘oh wait, idiots can’t catch colds’. Amidst training and travelling, he simply didn’t have the time to be sick. He was always running around. Now he was settling down, somewhat. It felt... weirdly normal. 

“Are you feeling shy?”

“Victor, go put on some clothes,” Yuuri repeated more forcefully.

“Or what?” he teased.

“I’ll put them on for you.”

“I’d put on anything for you,” he winked shamelessly, “Fulfil your every fantasy.”

One thing Victor loved about watching Yuuri get flustered was how quickly it happened. It wasn’t a gradient of red but a sudden pop. It was the same when Yuuri got drunk too. But this time, a mischievous smile crept its way to his mouth.

“Don’t tempt me.” Then he pulled away to place the salad at the table. “We have to eat before it gets cold.”

“True, you can eat me whenever you want. I’ll always be hot.”

“Victor!”

And he went to get changed for the day, a bright smile on his face.

~

Was it weird that Victor couldn’t stop grinning at the sight of their toothbrushes touching? Everything in his apartment was in pairs: matching mugs, towels side by side, mismatched hairs tangled together.

He couldn’t remember what had occupied that space before. More space, perhaps. And Yuuri had sprung from that space, invading his life in the best way possible. The apartment had not seemed so empty before Yuuri moved in.

He used to think that Makkachin was enough for him. To come home to a dog was the joy of all owners. Going on walks and enjoying the views in silence was a pleasant pastime and looking after Makkachin was more than enough commitment.

Now he hated being alone. He would rather be alone with Yuuri.

The only thing he truly did alone was train. Even then, they were never more than a mile away from each other. The rink in St Petersburg was much larger than the one in Hasetsu, which meant it wasn’t an issue to train separately. They concentrated much better in isolation.

Victor lifted his head from listing jumps to see a sweating Yuuri, hunched over the ledge of the rink.

“What… next?”

“Choreography. We’ll work more on footwork after your lesson with Lilia tomorrow.”

Yuuri nodded and swooped down for his water bottle. He took gigantic chugs and Victor watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, entranced.

“Has Yakov agreed to supervise our new training regime yet?”

Victor waited until Yuuri had wiped his mouth before replying.

“Not yet. He wants to supervise the program too, but I won’t let anybody coach your skating except me,” Victor grinned, “I won’t hand you over to anyone.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Yuuri smiled sultrily back, “But I want you to get more time to practice. At this rate you’ll fall behind in your training.”

Victor whined, abandoning the mask of a coach, “I had hoped you might say you’ll miss me.”

He received a light jab in the rib for that.

“I can handle a few hours away from you.”

“But I can’t!”

“You’ll be skating,” he reminded him softly.

“But you won’t be there. I’ll lose motivation.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll be skating against you at the Grand Prix. You’ll be outshone by me if you don’t practice more regularly.”

“I won’t if you don’t qualify. Which is likely at this point.”

Yuuri’s entire form crumbled to the ground like a collapsed pillar. He let out a tiny groan and mumbled, “You could try to be a little sensitive about it.”

“Only if you do the same.”

But he knew how much Yuuri had improved. The more he strove for, the more he advanced. Victor was sure that Yuuri knew it too. Everything had become more polished than it was before. If he couldn’t keep his eyes off him before, now he couldn’t live without seeing him skate. He was always so forward, so earnest. He always performed like he had something to prove.

“Go practice your triples again. If you fail one, then restart it. I want ten in a row.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Wait.”

Victor held onto Yuuri’s arm with a serious expression on his face – his coach face, as Yuuri put it.

Even after so long, he was afraid he would miss something: a signal of some sort. Victor was never good at the emotional side of anything and to be honest, he never really cared. Emotions were more of a burden when you were aiming to win gold. But with Yuuri, he was terrified of messing up anything.

“Will you be okay? With Yakov, I mean.”

“Of course.”

“Are you?”

Yuuri sighed, “I’m a certified skater. I can handle training from a professional.”

“Alright,” Victor nodded, “Now go do your sequence.”

“I thought you wanted the ten triples,” he frowned deeply.

“I want both.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and skated off in a huff. But of course he did both without complaint. With every perfected movement, Yuuri went hard and with every imperfect movement he went even harder. Victor yelled out his comments every so often, but never anything drastic.

Yuuri had already worked out a theme for himself this year and could visualise it flawlessly. It was only the execution that needed work.

He stared at Yuuri’s legs.

They were toned, muscular and in the new training clothes, very sexy. Victor ran his tongue along top lip then clapped his hands. Enough of the eye-candy.

“Alright, that’s it for today. Let’s go.”

“O-one more!” Yuuri yelled back.

Even from afar, Victor could see the sweat forming on his brow. Although it was encouraging to see how desperate Yuuri was trying, it also wasn’t healthy to push himself beyond his limits. Well, at least not all the time.

He gave Yuuri a look of resignation and sat himself back down. Yuuri skated to the middle of the ice, swaying slightly.

Victor held his tongue. He knew better than to get in the way. Yuuri wasn’t the type to listen obediently to his coach. Then again, neither was Victor. No wonder Yakov was taking so long to agree to his terms.

After a rather forced step sequence, Yuuri made his way to the ledge where Victor was waiting with a water bottle in one hand and a first aid kit in the other.

“Skates off.”

“It’s no big deal. You don’t have to.”

But Victor was already unlacing his skates to reveal the swollen mess.

This was a skater’s foot, peeling and painful. Only athletes understood it. The audience only saw the shining beauty above it all. Victor could only see how Yuuri flinched as he lifted it up.

“What if one of your toenails fall off?”

“It won’t.”

“It will if you keep forming all these blisters.”

“Are toenails necessary?”

Victor ignored him. What a silly way to distract him.

“Do you have any?” Yuuri asked as Victor plastered up as much as he could.

“Missing toenails?”

“Blisters.”

“I’ve already treated them.”

“I could do them for you,” Yuuri mumbled, “Next time. If you want me to.”

He paused, pulling back from Yuuri.

When was the last time somebody took care of him? Or even offered to? It must be back when he was a child. By the time he was a teen, he was already touring the world. Yakov was caring in his own way but it was never comforting. And here was Yuuri, easily providing it for him.

Where had he looked for warmth before Yuuri?

“Victor?”

“Hm?”

“You were spacing out.”

“Oh, was I?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been like this since this morning,” Yuuri frowned, “Are you ill? We could head home.”

“It sounds tempting but I promised Yurio we’d be around by six.”

“Victor!” he yelped, jumping up on his sore feet. “It’s already six!”

“Oh really?” he laughed carelessly, completely intent on staying where he was.

But Yuuri was already shoving away the first aid kit, packing up his skates and dragging Victor out of the rink, all the while scolding him for his poor time management.

How on earth did he get anywhere on time before Yuuri?

~

“You’re late,” Yurio scowled.

His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the glinting piercing he had gotten. It made his features sharper, made him look more dangerous than he was. Victor was sure that Otabek recently posted a photo with a similar earring…

“Sorry, we stayed at the rink too long,” Yuuri laughed nervously as he took his shoes off. Old habits die hard apparently.

Victor smiled to himself and took off his shoes as well. Yurio looked at the two of them suspiciously.

“Is that code for making out?”

“Y-yurio!”

“So it is.”

As the two bickered, Victor snuck into the kitchen to greet Yurio’s grandpa. The old man was hunched over a pot of soup, his wrinkly face pulled wide with a smile when he saw him.

“We’re here! Thanks for having us over,” Victor announced cheerfully.

“Ah, Victor! I haven’t seen you in a long time. Quickly, come sit. The food is going cold.”

He complied all too happily.

When Yurio and Victor had trained together, he came over often. It was convenient after practice plus Yurio behaved differently around his grandpa (not that he wasn’t always endearing). To Victor, it was a treat to be surrounded by such comfort. He had traded home for skating and gold medals, and while he couldn’t say he regretted it, sometimes he missed it.

The rowdiness was something he rarely got, even with Yuuri around. It was like he had drunk too much mulled wine or if they were celebrating just for the sake of celebrating. The food disappeared faster than the tension in the air.

“Ah, it’s almost as good as katsudon,” Victor sighed contently.

He reminisced the hearty dinners at the onsen. Yuuri’s family were like this too: open-hearted with no judgement whatsoever.

“My grandpa makes the best katsudon-pirozhki,” Yurio declared while his grandpa shot him a stern look. Yurio didn’t bother to look ashamed for his outburst.

“That sounds amazing too.”

“Of course it is. My grandpa made it.”

“It sounds like something Yuuri would binge,” Victor teased but he received no rebuttal. Immediately, he turned to his fiancé beside him. He wasn’t even facing him.

“Yuuri?”

“Yes?”

They stared at each other for a second, Yuuri still blank.

“Are you… alright?”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” he laughed nervously, as if the world had come back to him in that second. “Did Victor tell you I’m getting trained by Lilia too?”

“Hmph. You might not survive it.”

“I did ballet with Minako-sensei in Japan, you know…”

“You don’t know ballet until you’ve trained with Lilia.”

Victor frowned. Whenever Yuuri wasn’t listening into a conversation, there was one of two options. One: he had something weighing on his mind. Two: he was drunk.

He prayed it wasn’t the second. Drunk Yuuri was wild Yuuri. (Not that he didn’t love wild Yuuri. He loved all of him.)

But what was distracting him?

He turned to where Yuuri was looking. It was only a shelf with some wooden-framed photographs. Split in the middle was the commemorative picture of the Grand Prix: Yurio holding up his medal proudly with Yuuri smiling nervously beside him.

Was Yuuri stressed out? Was he feeling the pressure? Anxiety?

He glanced over at Yuuri and Yurio chatting excitedly over something. He could stare at the scene all day; he didn’t want to risk breaking the ambiance.

“Yurochka has grown a lot since he met him.”

Victor turned to the elderly man who was admiring the pleasantry. He had a soft look about him despite his stern appearance. You had to be at the right angle, with the right mindset to see it, almost like a cubist painting.

“I think he changed you a lot too. For the better. You don’t look as lonely.”

“I looked lonely?”

He shrugged, “I’ve seen a lot of lonely old men in my life. Didn’t have the luck to find people they loved. Grew cold.”

“Then I’m the luckiest, warmest man in the world.”

“You know, all you need in life is a good home. It doesn’t necessarily have to be big or diverse, just good. You can sit down and share a big meal together, have a laugh. And that’s good. He’s a good kid, that Japanese boy.”

Victor felt somewhat flattered at the compliment. There was always the fear of seeking approval from senior figures which gradually decreased the more he fell for Yuuri, but it was always there. Having heard it for himself, he felt the heat rise to his chest, then to his face, then to his eyes. He was more than flattered.

“But there’s this one boy,” the old man frowned, cutting the warmth pooling in Victor. “He’s from Kazakhstan. Yurochka has been talking about him a lot. Always on his phone.”

“Ah, yes. Otabek Altin. I think those two are dat-”

“Victor! Shut your damn mouth!”

“Yurochka, language!”

~

Victor disliked how people stared when he held onto his fiancé’s hand. They always stared, muttered and turned the other way like they were distasteful.

“Victor? Are you listening?”

The dark thoughts rushed to the back of his head. He didn’t want to infect Yuuri with them. It was troubling enough.

Yuuri pouted. “I said, I wonder if I could try making katsudon. I’m really craving it after Yurio promoted those katsudon-pirozhkis.”

“Of course you can! I can get the ingredients shipped –”

“Don’t!” Then Yuuri sighed. “On second thought, I won’t. Mum will make it when I win the Grand Prix.”

“When you win?”

Victor’s lips curled into a smile. He secretly loved it when Yuuri showed more of his confidence – not exactly cockiness. Assertiveness would be the correct term. It was just… sexy. He would never regret choreographing ‘Eros’ for him.

Yuuri returned a coy smile and tucked his face deeper into his scraf.

“In the future, definitely. Maybe not this year. Phitchit-kun is training really hard and no doubt JJ will be planning something dramatic. Everyone is making a comeback - including you, Victor. And Yurio will be doing everything to defend his crown. But I’m going to do my best. I’ll give it everything I have.”

Yuuri stopped walking as if the thought had struck him lame. He asked, “What’s your goal for this year, Victor?”

He tapped his chin.

“Set a new world record.”

Yuuri stared at him incredulously. For a second, Victor began to worry he had said something wrong. Was his competitive side showing through too much? Did Yuuri find it unattractive? Did he find it intimidating?

“Yuuri?”

His voice was soft.

“You… You can do it.”

“You think?” Victor answered almost shy. He felt young again. Abashed. “I mean, I’m getting rusty.”

“That’s not true!” Yuuri yelled back, making him jump. “You will take back your record. But I’m still going to win. I won’t lose to you. You’re more than my idol now, more than a coach and that means I have more of a reason to impress you.”

The fire in his eyes were consuming. It took control over Yuuri, over Victor, over the world. How did nobody see it before? This fire on the ice.

Victor didn’t care if other people were going to stare. They could call the police on him for all he cared. He flung himself onto his fiancé. Every fibre of his being had to support him, rival or not.

“Victor!”

“You can do it too,” he whispered, “I know you can.”

Yuuri relaxed into his embrace, mumbling his thanks. Eventually, Victor pulled back and settled for entwining their fingers. Yuuri’s palms grew clammy whenever he grew nervous. That was how he knew he was going to say something important.

“I want to win. I want to win soon and get married to you.”

Suddenly the ring around his finger felt heavy. He sometimes forgot how dedicated Yuuri could be. Living here with Yuuri was already like a dream; how could he allow himself to believe in another miracle? Yuuri was shooting for the stars.

“Then you’ll have to beat me,” Victor answered fiercely but without malice. His voice was gentle. “So we can retire at our peak, get married and travel the world. We can do anything we want, together.”

“Yeah.”

His hand was trembling.

Victor lifted his head. It was a murky day; hardly anybody was strolling down the streets of St Petersburg. It was one of those days when people would rather curl up in blankets. Surely nobody had the time to call them out. With the weather acting as a shield, Victor pressed his lips over Yuuri’s cold knuckles then his flushed cheek then his parted lips, taking time to relish in it.

“I want you all to myself already.”

There was a flush of colour that reached Yuuri’s ears.

“We could wrap up with Makkachin to watch those Japanese game shows. I could do that forever with you. I don’t even remember what I did before I met you.”

“Victor…”

“Hm.”

“I need to go.”

He pulled away in shock. “What?”

“I mean to the convenience store,” Yuuri corrected himself immediately, “You go home first. I need to buy some things. I think Makkachin might be starving and lonely.”

Victor looked unsurely at him. Yuuri was mature enough to take care of himself despite speaking less than adequate Russian. He knew his way around the neighbourhood but it didn’t feel right.

“Makkachin can wait.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. You go shower first otherwise we’ll have to wait for the boiler. I just want to buy something.”

He looked confidently at Victor, his hold steady.

“Makkachin wants more bonding time too,” he added.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

But even leaving Yuuri behind for five minutes seemed like torture.

~

Victor sunk into the bathtub. The water was clear enough that he could watch his skin grow rosy from the heat. When he lifted his hands, he stared at his prune-like fingertips.

This was what it would be like to grow old.

By then, he would have quit competitive skating. The idea scared him, no matter how much he tried to deny it. There would come a day when there would be no audience to surprise. There would be no eyes on him. He would be another boring pensioner. Everyone would have forgotten about him and Makkachin wouldn’t be around then.

At least he’d have Yuuri.

Yuuri would have equally wrinkly hands. They’d compare how much they’d shrunk. They’d reminisce by the fire. The world would be the two of them.

He found himself smiling.

There was nothing to be afraid of if he had Yuuri. After all, hadn’t he stopped skating to coach him? Everything around Yuuri excited Victor. Life with him was a new project, a way to keep surprising himself. He wouldn’t need an audience anymore.

Makkachin barked outside.

Yuuri must be back.

Victor clambered out of the tub and towelled himself dry. He swung the door open and yelled out a rather excited, “Yuuri!” but Yuuri was too busy hunched over the table.

He frowned, unimpressed by the reaction. He crept over quietly, leaned over his shoulder and whispered into his ear, “What are you doing?”

Yuuri let out a startled yelp and tried to cradle his project away from Victor but there was no way he could cover everything. Lying on the table was a photograph of him and Yuuri pair-skating the duet at the exhibition. In fact, the entire table was decorated by photographs.

“Photographs?”

Yuuri flushed.

“I wanted to frame them,” he explained slowly, “I was thinking that the apartment was looking a little… sad. It’s all so clean and empty. There’s nothing but trophies around. I thought I could hang these around to brighten up the place. Was that a bad idea?”

Victor didn’t answer. He inspected the photos Yuuri had cared to develop.

Their first selfie at the ninja castle, their first coach-student portrait, the first photo they ever took together – dancing drunkenly. There was even a photo of Makkachin running about in the snow. It brought a smile to Victor’s face. He thought Yuuri had forgotten that photo – he sent it to him almost a year ago.

“I was just thinking, while we were walking home, how lucky I was.”

Victor stared at him, how Yuuri was mulling over the photographs as if they were treasures.

“It could have been anyone. You could have coached anybody of your choice, but you chose the short end of the stick,” he laughed stiffly.

“Yuuri, we talked about this.” His tone was warning.

“No, I don’t think I’m inferior to the others,” he reasserted, flailing his arms around in denial.

Victor gave him a stern stare which made Yuuri look sheepish. His tendency not to be precise with his words always got him in these awkward situations.

“I chose you because you had potential. I watched you skate. I didn’t decide to coach you when you were drunk and challenging people to dance battles. I’ve seen a lot of drunk people, but I do have to say you gave me the strongest impression.”

Yuuri let out a snort of laughter. “Thanks.”

Then Victor spoke almost sadly, “Then don’t say things like that.”

Yuuri brushed his finger across the glossy films with a nostalgic smile.

“I know now. I know I undermine myself constantly but I’m working hard, with all that I have. I put my all into skating, so I won’t regret any result I get. But this,” he gestured around him, “It’s beyond hard work. It’s… spontaneous.”

“Don’t make it sound like you don’t deserve it.”

He shook his head.

“A few years ago, I was training in Detroit. Then I was at the Grand Prix. Then back to Japan, ready to quit. Now here I am, in St Petersburg, because you showed up in my life. It’s unreal.”

Yuuri let the photos flop lifelessly into a pile. The instances of their lives that were captured truly felt like part of a movie, some Nicholas Sparks type of thing – completely irrational yet magical.

“It’s more like a dream come true – sharing the ice, sharing a home, being with you. It feels like it might just slip away. These moments are precious to me.”

“They shouldn’t be.”

His head jerked towards Victor. He was staring determinedly at him.

“I’m right here. I won’t disappear.”

Victor spoke with such conviction it felt like a crime to refute. So Yuuri simply smiled. A small but grateful small.

“I’m won’t either.”

“I plan to stay with you until I’m old and grey. Our trophies will be collecting dust together.”

“Who says I’ll put my trophies with yours?”

“Me, because even if I’m shrinking from old age, I’ll still be taller. I would reach higher.”

Yuuri chuckled, “I think your back would crack.”

Victor pouted and reached for Yuuri like a child. He felt the cold band around his finger. He let his fingers curl perfectly around his.

“Promise me. Promise me you’ll stop looking behind you and just look at me.”

Yuuri blinked several times, like a deer that had just been spotted. Then he clasped his other hand over theirs, gently.

“I promise.”

Victor leaned in first, sneaking a quick kiss. It was short and sweet until Yuuri pushed again, more aggressively. He felt him smirk.

“Victor… You’re pressing on me.”

He purred.

“I’m going to shower,” Yuuri announced all too happily as he pulled away. He had such a sly look on his face that Victor didn’t know whether to cry out of self-pity or get more turned on.

“What?”

“And don’t come in,” Yuuri warned him as he slammed the door behind him.

Victor rolled his eyes and slumped down on the chair. He stared at the photographs with a smirk. They were all so thoughtfully arranged. And to think that these were all complied within a year. Such little time together and they had already become irreplaceable to each other.

Even when Yuuri turned cruel, he wouldn’t stop loving him. Perhaps it would change the nature of their relationship, but he would never abandon him. Even if Yuuri destroyed him, broke his heart, betrayed him, he didn’t think he had it in him to not care for him.

Such was the nature of love: it’s irrevocable. And Victor wouldn’t have it any other way.

~

Since they weren’t married yet, Yuuri absolutely refused to sleep in the same bed. Something about a Japanese tradition or cultural difference. But obviously Victor found a way around that.

“Stay in your own room tonight,” Yuuri glowered, “We have early practice tomorrow. I can’t be late for Lilia and you can’t be late for Yakov.”

“They can wait but I can’t,” he persisted, pouting as much as he could. “You already made me wait until you finished showering.”

“Victor.”

“It’s not like we’ve never slept on the same bed before,” he rambled, “I slept on your futon in Japan. I slept on top of you in China.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“How so?”

Yuuri groaned and Victor knew he was nearing the end of the argument. If it got too late, Yuuri would comply or simply fall asleep elsewhere.

The concept of having separate beds in the same apartment made no sense to Victor. But Yuuri had demanded that the guest room be his, at least until they were wed. It was endearing to begin with but it was annoying now.

Of course, that led to the question: would they have sex before they got married? A question that remained unanswered.

“I don’t have time for this,” Yuuri moaned, as he leaned his forehead on the doorframe.

“Yuuri~”

“Stop it, Victor.”

“Just for tonight. You can’t make such a romantic gesture and then kick me out of your room.”

“I’m not kicking you out.”

Victor pulled such a miserable face that Yuuri let out a groan.

“Alright, alright. You can stay here tonight, on the other side of the bed.”

But Victor was a ‘give him an inch and he’ll take a mile’ type of guy. Once the lights flickered off and Yuuri’s breathing had evened out, Victor snuggled up to him. Right before Yuuri was about to reprimand him, he spoke.

“You know, sometimes I think that too.”

“Think what?” came the muffled reply.

Victor shuffled closer so that he could peer over Yuuri’s face. His eyes were still shut but his brows were drawn together in frustration.

“That you might be a figment of my imagination. That you’re out of my league. That I don’t deserve Yuuri Katsuki in my life.”

The bewildered look on Yuuri’s face made Victor love him more, if that was possible. Now two warm brown eyes were staring at him.

“I think being spontaneous enough to fly over to Japan to find you was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. And I’ve done a lot.”

Yuuri didn’t laugh. He flipped himself over so that he was staring into Victor’s eyes with complete honesty. Victor had always found that lovers could do that. Just stare into each other’s eyes, never bored. And then the words would come flooding out, just through that contact.

Yuuri’s eyes were telling him he was loved.

“I’ll never be more thankful for that,” he admitted. He gave Victor a quick peck. And another. And another. Until he was peppered with kisses over his face. Victor let out a soft moan as Yuuri reached his ear, nibbling lightly on it. He finally pulled back.

“Victor, we can’t. We have practice in the morning.”

“We always have practice in the morning,” he reiterated, “We can’t let it stop us living our lives.”

Yuuri groaned.

“A quick one?” Victor grinned and pressed himself up against Yuuri. He could almost feel the resolve leaving him. There was a tent gathering up in his pants as it was. Yuuri’s lower lip was trembling.

“A-alright. But nothing… much.”

“Got it.”

Victor smiled and kissed him again. Then he hooked the waistband of Yuuri’s bottoms and boxers, tugging them down in one go. As if in retaliation, Yuuri did the same with much more vigour and with such a serious look on his face that Victor couldn’t help giggle. This was the wrong place to be competitive, he thought.

“What’s so funny?” Yuuri frowned.

“Nothing,” he sang.

But Yuuri was having none of it tonight. He wrapped his hand around Victor’s dick roughly and smiled at him menacingly.

“Still funny?”

“Well, it’s certainly sexy.”

“Hm.”

Yuuri began stroking him slowly, rhythmically. It wasn’t overly stimulating but it was hard to ignore and Yuuri knew that. He hadn’t even touched him all the way, only hovering slightly over the tip. Who knew he was such a vixen?

“I have an idea,” Victor spoke up, breath unsteady, “Let me suck you off.”

“I’m on board with that idea.”

“And you do that at the same time.”

He watched Yuuri’s face contort once more. Would he be comfort with that?

Yuuri sucked his bottom lip, as if anticipating. “I think I’m still on board,” he managed.

“Really, Yuuri Katsuki?” he breathed.

His hand was moving again, and Victor had to move with it. He pressed himself flat against Yuuri now so that his face hovered over him.

“You’ve changed me, Victor Nikiforov,” he smirked in that smug way that Victor simultaneously loved and hated. “And in Japanese, you read the names the other way.”

“Well, I thought I could stick with my way of saying it. Since you’re not homesick.”

“I’m not.” He leaned in close to Victor’s ears, letting his breathing intimidate Victor. “I’m horny.”

Without warning, Yuuri rolled him over, tossing the sheets aside. Victor wasn’t even sure what was happening until Yuuri began stroking him again. This time there was nothing consistent about it. He was going fast then slow, rough then soft, up then around.

He could feel Yuuri growing hard against his chest but nothing was registering in his mind. It was happening too quickly for him to respond except in short gasps. He could already feel himself nearing when Yuuri stopped.

“You know, the point of this is so we could do it simultaneously.”

For once, Victor wanted to swipe that smirk off his face. This Yuuri that barely anybody saw frustrated him but allured him so much like a drug. He was so controlling, so demanding, so fucking sexy.  
He scowled and immediately grabbed onto Yuuri’s erection.

Their gentle loving or their aggressive passion had now transformed into something else, something bordering animal. Without another word, Victor wrapped his mouth around his dick, tasting him.  
Finally, Yuuri cried out, his mask disappearing. It made Victor more satisfied than if he came.

“Victor –”

He went deeper, until his entire length was in his mouth. Then he let his tongue roll around it, only listening to the moans of his name as motivation. Yuuri was chanting it, like a prayer.

He pulled back, straightening so that he could see his fiancé’s face.

“You know,” he said slowly, knowing that Yuuri’s eyes were on the trail of saliva on his lips, “The point of this is so we could do it simultaneously.”

He watched Yuuri’s face glow red and tried to hold in a laugh.

“We should just go to bed,” he huffed, shuffling to find the covers again.

“Would you like to just hear me masturbate next to you then?”

“I’ll sleep outside,” he mumbled, a pout on his lips.

“Aw Yuuri.”

He embraced him, running his fingers up his perfectly toned arms. He loved that Yuuri was always tanner, always healthier looking than Victor. A long life ahead.

“Let me apologise.”

He reached until the bed for the lube, quickly covering his two fingers.

“No, Victor. I said –”

“I’m apologising,” he whispered, as he sunk his fingers into himself, stretching as quickly as he could. It was somewhat uncomfortable, so he had to go slower, feeling every motion within. He was highly aware that Yuuri was watching him, eyes wide. And that with every little noise Victor was squeezing out, Yuuri was getting harder. So he leaned over, taking Yuuri’s dick in his mouth once more.

Yuuri let out a yelp that sounded more like a cry of help than it was Victor’s name. He tried his best to occupy his mind with pleasuring Yuuri and that seemed to help. Yuuri was tilting his head back in ecstasy.

“Yuuri,” Victor said, once he pulled away. He took his fingers out too so that he could offer himself completely. “Can we?”

He watched Yuuri’s clouded gaze drift from their legs trapped in their discarded clothes and back to Victor’s face. Then he drew Victor in, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Victor tried to fight it but it was futile.

“Do you even need to ask at this point?” Yuuri breathed.

“Always.”

“Such a gentleman,” he smiled.

“Maybe I just want to hear it,” he smiled sultrily, “I want you to say it.”

Yuuri pressed his lips against Victor’s knuckles, shivering when he felt the ring. Then he looked into his eyes, so hazy with lust.

“I want to fuck you.”

The good sense of holding back faded away like morning mist and with a moan, Victor lowered himself onto Yuuri. Perhaps he was a little too ambitious as he felt the tight ring of muscles stretching too much as Yuuri entered him. He ought to have lubricated even more. But when he heard Yuuri moan, it was more than enough. It didn’t matter.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked, concern in his hazel eyes.

He couldn’t help but smile back.

“Who’s the gentleman now?”

“Just want to make sure you’ll still be able to skate tomorrow.”

But Yuuri waited with a small smile on his face as Victor relaxed into it. He let himself fall into Yuuri, as if it was a drop from the sky. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? To give yourself truly to anybody was like risking death to land in paradise. But Yuuri was more than paradise. Yuuri was the courage he needed. Yuuri was the air he breathed. Yuuri was part of him.

“I’m going to shift so we get more space –”

“Yuuri,” he huffed, “You don’t need to explain everything. It’s not a documentary.”

“That’s a little kinky,” Yuuri grinned cheekily as he pushed Victor onto his back. And at his request, he didn’t say a thing as he thrust into him deeper, entering the heat.

He let out a gasp each time Yuuri thrust, as if he was entering for the first time. He could feel Yuuri, moving. He could feel every one of nerves enjoying Yuuri’s presence. He could feel his entire body heat up. As if this was their first time. And Victor supposed it was – the first time since they had moved in together. It was a christening, he supposed.

“I’m… close,” Yuuri panted, his hips bucking.

But Victor wasn’t. And although he was enjoying himself, he needed the release just as much.

“Touch me,” he whispered, almost begged.

And Yuuri complied.

In time with the quickening thrusts, Yuuri stroked his length. The pace was becoming bruising. Perhaps it was practice or just luck that Yuuri tilted himself back, the angle hitting on his prostrate. And Victor couldn’t help but squeal and grab onto Yuuri’s hair for support.

“Fuck, Yuuri… I’m – Ah! There! Faster.”

His voice was strangely hushed as Yuuri sped up until nothing could enter his mind except the climax. It was when Yuuri grazed over the tip of him that Victor cried out his name, pumping through the orgasm. Yuuri followed shortly after, murmuring into his soaked skin.

They lay there, panting but still together.

“Now we have to shower again,” Yuuri groaned.

“Way to ruin the mood,” Victor chuckled, climbing off his fiancé. But he cradled his face in his hand and just grinned at him. “I love you. You know that?”

“I do,” Yuuri grinned.

“And I need you to take this weekend off so I can fuck you.”

Yuuri blushed in that cute way he always did, red everywhere except around his eyes. Then he snuggled into Victor, resting his head against his chest. It didn't help that he looked so comfortable. He felt his eyelids droop. And Victor fell asleep on the guest bed - not alone, not cold.


End file.
